1

Now it was their turn to escort the prisoner to his interrogation cell.

No endless red tape and paperwork, at least it wasn't up to them to deal with that part of the business. Sylvester wished the prisoner had remained unconscious until he was taken to the machine, thus sparing him the usual pleas, empty threats or attempts to negotiate, but nothing could be perfect.

The wrestler, named Ryan Madison, was naturally handcuffed with his hands behind his back. But Sylvester also had a firm grip on his wrists.

His katana was still sheathed, but it didn't matter. He could unsheathe it in a matter of milliseconds, if necessary. The fact that he had it dangling from his waist was threat enough.

Or it should be.

Enough desperate people tried to escape even at this point. Human nature, again. When they shouldn't, people caved very easily, but when they had nothing to do, they didn't want to give up.

What a mess and a pain in the ass.

"When that chick beat me," the wrestling fan began, "I thought I'd never wake up again. I should have known it can always get worse. What's in store for me?"

"You're a prisoner. You think you have the right to ask questions?" Cynthia said. That was a professional, textbook response. Everything you'd expect from an agent.

Sylvester had nothing to reproach her about. But he still contradicted her.

"It won't hurt. But you'll wish it did."

The job was done, the fight was over. This was just a cleanup. Maybe he deserved to know what was in store for him despite the nature of the things he'd been involved in.

Maybe he just deserved to have his head cut off. He couldn't know.

Yet.

"You strike me as the kind of guy who doesn't see the need to lie because the truth hurts more. I believe you." The giant sighed deeply, regretting it only when it was too late. "Man, the pay wasn't even that good."

Sylvester smiled in response as if it were some kind of joke.

It wasn't, but it was funny. He could have taken the opportunity to elbow Cynthia and show her that he did have a sense of humor, but now wasn't the time. All in good time.

Fortunately there was none of what he had been expecting.

After saying those words, Ryan was silent. He doubted he had resigned himself, it was still too early for that, but at least he had the sense to know that words would do him no good.

They arrived at the interrogation room. It had nothing special, it had four black walls and was very narrow, almost claustrophobic. Not even the machine at the back was anything special. There were many of those scattered all over the country in similar rooms, after all.

They made him sit in the chair.

While Cynthia watched him and kept him at bay, Sylvester connected the prisoner to the chair. He first closed the restraints around his wrists and ankles, then lowered the helmet to his head.

It resembled an electric chair. But, as he had said, Ryan would wish it hurt. That it were something as simple as torture, something he could face by biting his tongue, gritting his teeth and simply resisting.

"You're the one who should be here, not me." He still had the balls to talk to him that way, without looking away even a little. It was admirable, in a way.

Soon he fell unconscious. The machine couldn't work any other way. So there was no point, but Sylvester felt the need to respond out loud anyway.

As if hoping a part of him could still hear him.

"Maybe it will be my turn one of these days."

Cynthia had heard him, couldn't have missed it, but chose not to say anything. Which he was grateful for. Discretion was also an important quality in a partner.

"How does this work?"

Sylvester put a hand to his head, tossing his hair back. His hair was rather short, so it was a rather useless gesture right now, but he did it anyway. Reflex.

Yeah. The job.

"You sit down, put on your helmet. The rest you'll see step by step. I'll guide you."

"Okay, boss."

"If you don't want to take part, you don't have to. You insisted.

"I know. "He didn't believe it, Cynthia gave the impression that she wished she was anywhere but here, but it didn't matter. He wouldn't force her to go away. Trusting her was part of his job, too. "That's not the point. Well, let's get going.

So they did. Three helmets each, all plugged into the machine. Neither the official name nor its nickname did the thing justice. Sylvester thought of it for what it was: a door.

Now that all the users were connected, the machine started up on its own.

The victim had to be unconscious, but it wasn't the same for them, of course. They started the journey with their eyes wide open. Even so, the transition was so quick that it might have taken seconds to notice the change had they not been in a completely empty room.

Now they were in what appeared to be an ordinary living room. The house was empty.

The television, placed in front of a ratty, dirty sofa, wasn't being watched by anyone. Nor would it have mattered. The screen only reflected static.

Sylvester didn't know where to start yet. He never did.

But there would be time for that. If the clues weren't hidden in this room, then the clue would come to them soon, maybe literally on two legs. Maybe on more.

"That's it? This is his mind palace?"

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"You watch too many movies, but.... Yeah. Something like that. At least the tip of the iceberg."

A loud, violent sound. It had to be a door or a window opening. Either way, it meant trouble.

"What was that?" Cynthia asked, stepping back and shrinking in on herself. Half fear at not knowing what to expect, half preparing for a battle they couldn't win.

Not directly, at least.

"Lower your voice."

Sylvester gave her the order expecting her to obey, for he was her boss and, above all else, a partner she trusted on and off the battlefield. He trusted her, he really did.

But still he didn't even wait for her to obey.

He put a hand over her mouth right away.

If they had to die, fine. Everyone died sooner or later, but he refused to die because of a typical horror movie mistake. He had common sense!

Next, he used his free hand to grab her by the wrist and dragged her towards the first hiding place he saw. Namely, a closet. It didn't look very big, but it turned out to be just enough for the two of them to fit inside.

Possibly, too, it got bigger as soon as they got inside.

In any case, it suited them. For the time being.

"It doesn't matter how strong we are in reality. None of this is real." Sylvester gave her a quick explanation in a very low voice, close to her ear, to make sure she understood. And that she didn't do anything stupid.

Again, he trusted her, but it wouldn't be strange if she screwed up. For all intents and purposes this was a different world. On his first visit he had made quite a few impulsive mistakes and had just barely managed to get away with his life. That, among other things, explained why he didn't want to remember it. Or mention it.

It wasn't long before they heard footsteps.

Through the slits, they saw a monster enter the living room. Even if it had once been a human being, it hardly looked like one anymore. There were many lurid and sickening details he could mention, such as the huge goat horns that sprouted from its back like wings and, twisted, pierced it, sticking out of its chest.

But what was truly disturbing was how it changed shape subtly and constantly.

As if it were not the actual creature, but a reflection of the creature on the water of a lake and the ripples were stirring that reflection.

It was actually a metaphor quite close to reality.

The monster had no nose, but appeared to be sniffing the air as it moved its head back and forth with an agitation characteristic of a guy in the middle of an acid trip. Ryan Madison's subconscious knew there were intruders even in this state, naturally.

As it flailed and sniffed the air, the monster tossed the fabric with one of its many extra limbs and with no apparent purpose, or at least a purpose quite difficult to discern just by observing their shape. Sylvester couldn't help but notice that the television didn't break when it hit the ground. Not even a tiny crack appeared on the screen.

That was of no importance now, but it could be everything later, so he couldn't help but notice it.

As soon as the monster turned its back on them, Sylvester came out of the closet. Trying not to make any noise, but still not wasting any time. His left hand descended to the pommel of the katana.

He had to be very careful. If he missed this opportunity, maybe they could still fight. Maybe. But it could also be the end.

Sylvester unsheathed the sword quickly. No matter how careful he was, there was no way it wouldn't hear him trying to draw the sword from its scabbard anyway.

It heard him, made to turn around after which it would undoubtedly come at his throat.

The monster didn't get the chance. The sword pierced it cleanly through, right where the heart would be in a humanoid being. And that was enough. It fell to the ground, dead.

It should be, at least. He couldn't be one hundred percent sure of anything in this place.

"Is that it?" Cynthia asked, and for that reason he avoided answering her question directly.

"If it had seen us, it could have torn us apart without even touching us. It's hard to predict what will happen here. The mind has its own rules."

"And what's this? Did he encounter a Lunar Remnant in the past? A trauma from his child...? No, he's too old for that."

It was only natural that she'd come to that conclusion. Anyone would try to fit strange occurrences into their common sense, their frame of reference. Humans were the best at pattern recognition, after all.

"I think you're on the right track. Only whatever this is wasn't a monster." He cocked his head to the side, thoughtful." Literally, at least.

"Oh." Cynthia sounded empathetic. She was good at that. Him?

"Nothing of interest to us, anyway. Let's move on."

Not so much.

The first thing Cynthia did was try the door. That, breaking it down if it was locked, was the natural thing to do, what anyone would do. That's why it was a mistake. Sylvester didn't even need to look to know the result.

Nor did he have to wait for her to open her mouth, complaining.

"It won't open."

"Didn't you look at the windows? There's nothing outside." Darkness, maybe more things like this or worse crawling within it, but certainly not a path or a way out.

The only thing they would find in the depths of darkness would be oblivion and death.

"So how do we continue?"

"Give me a minute."

Only he'd already had it figured out, more or less. A bit risky, but there weren't that many options.

"Maybe this is it. Come here."

That's what she did.

"The TV?"

"That's what works best here. Static, only, but even though there's light, the bulbs seem to be off." Among other things, like the fact that it had survived the fall intact. Things not breaking when they should wasn't necessarily strange in a dream, nothing was, but it could be a clue. There were always clues, a pattern. Always. "For example. I'll go first."

If it turned out to be a mistake, he'd rather pay for it alone.

Sylvester reached out a hand toward the TV screen reluctantly, as if he were pulling it closer to a bear trap. It was even possible for a bear to come out of there, anything could happen in a person's mind.

His hand sank into the screen as if it were made of water.

It was some kind of door leading somewhere else, but that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous. Sylvester took a deep breath. He had no choice but to try.

Sylvester got his whole body through the television with no trouble. It took him up a hill with a long drop into nothingness, because the hill was floating in the air. There was absolutely nothing but that piece of hill, the slope down, and clouds painting an endless sky. He couldn't even dimly see, in the distance, a bit of land.

Sylvester was going to scream that it was safe to pass, hoping Cynthia could hear him from the other side, but he didn't have to. She fell out of the sky as he did. Didn't land as well, but at least she didn't get ahead of him, rolling down the hill.

"I'm glad to see you're okay. What's this?"

"A path. We'll expose even his smallest secrets if we have to.

"But... Boss, there is no path. I mean, it ends." Why bother saying that? He could see, in her tone and in her eyes, that she already knew the answer. Even if she wished she didn't.

"Downward."

"Oh, great."

"You don’t like heights?"

"Not these heights. Not without a parachute."

Good thing Cynthia didn't ask if he was sure they wouldn't kill themselves. He wouldn't have been able to give her the answer she wanted. Not without lying, but she surely would have figured it out instantly, so it wouldn't make sense anyway.

They grabbed each other's hands and began to slide down the hill, propelled by the water running down it. He hadn't mentioned her so far because it wasn't there before they started moving downhill.

He hated this.

He always did, but apparently Ryan had a very disorganized mind. Full of surprises.

The hill ended and they began to fall through the sky, through the clouds, with the icy wind passing through their bones like countless swords, a tempest of steel that could hardly be endured. But they had to, they could only hope this would be over soon.

They didn't fall to the ground, exploding like a piñata. Nor did they exactly find land.

The speed of the fall suddenly dropped to a point where you could say they were more like floating down, and they landed safely.

Into a ring, with a phantom crowd that was out for blood, apparently.

"At least now we know why he was dressed like that," Cynthia said.

Right. Positive thinking.

Whether this was some sort of symbolic representation or an actual memory of the target, what entered the ring to greet them, their dance partner for the night, wasn't another wrestler dressed rather scantily in a mask and cape or something.

No.

It was a fucking lion.

"Boss? I don't like where this is going, boss." Cynthia sounded desperate to believe he'd pull a magical solution out of his ass. Perhaps some hitherto unknown power to make the lion simply disappear off the face of the earth.

Unfortunately for her, well, for both of them, he didn't have the power to manipulate what went on inside other people's minds.

At the moment, at least.

So there was only one thing to do.

"And you think I do? Brace yourself."

Sylvester drew his katana as that beast approached them with its jaws wide open, blood and saliva dripping from them, showing that it may have eaten recently, but it hadn't been enough by a long shot. Cynthia also prepared her weapon of choice, that is, a pair of black revolvers with red accents.

The lion was hungry. And he had just been handed another two plates of food.

But he wouldn't have his way.